


commutare

by leprixx



Category: Bleach
Genre: Bruises, Community: kink_bingo, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Hallucinations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/pseuds/leprixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I'm everyone else but me</i>, he doesn't add. Thinks of his own other half, colors all wrong and cruelness all ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	commutare

his eyes snap open in the dark.

(a dream, about insufferable heat and a red smile.)

\--

He stops brushing his teeth, eyebrows furrowing. There's something - a rash? - on the jut of his jaw, red and pink and angry. He runs a nail across it, and scratches when it stings, keeps going until it's bleeding and little drops of blood are dripping from his jaw to his white shirt.

\--

he wakes up.

(a dream, about cold hands and bland meat turning to dust on his tongue.)

\--

He finds his skin yellowing under the fabric of his sweatpants. Dares to slide a finger under the fabric, pulling it up. Yellow and spreading, green at turns. 

It stings when he lets the elastic slap back in place.

\--

he wakes up and doesn't remember going to sleep.

(a dream, blank.)

\--

A black stretch of skin, from one hipbone to another, swollen, purple and blue in tiny dots. He frowns and raises his thigh. The yellow bruise is still there, almost oval, almost numb when he presses a finger to it. He holds his breath without meaning to, and touches the blackness of the new bruise, just the tips of his fingertips, barely-there pressure.

He blacks out.

\--

he stares at the ceiling and waits. 

("Hello" The voice, closer than ever before. He expects the blade, sliding between his ribs with the wetness of a wound, but gets a hand curving around his jaw, instead. "Life's been pretty bad for ya, hm?" Lips, closing on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "Must be glad to be having those dreams, right?" He waits for more, an explanation, but he's left alone after a single press of teeth.)

he stops sleeping.

\--

"Kurosaki-kun." Orihime has her eyebrows drawn together, a hand frozen in the space between them. He can taste her on his gums, her blood bubbling behind his closed lips. She's looking at the open wound on his jaw, at the way his scarf sticks to it, doesn't quite manage to cover the traces of violence. 

If he speaks--  
If.

"Kurosaki-kun, are you okay?" He blinks and there are tear-tracks running down her cheeks. Marking her face in mockery, golden-bright where, in someone else, they had been the lack. He blinks again and she's closer, mouth open. Blinks and it's not Orihime, staring at him with derision.

He runs.

\--

("You're mine, here." Hands close around her throat, and he notices the way they're built differently - how the hand looks unnaturally pale, against the flush of her skin. He can feel her shivering, the way she lets out a breath.

He doesn't know what to expect, anymore. 

There's a smile on her face, when he looks up. Serene and submissive and tender.

"I am." She rests a hand over his, just resting, sharing warmth. She doesn't try to make him let go.)

\--

"I've been having these dreams-" He starts, and stops. Swallows. Doesn't know how to explain, if he's able to. But then, so much has happened. This wouldn't be the strangest thing, by far. Urahara is looking at him with the same look he saves for when he's done teasing - calculating, quiet. Deceptive, if Ichigo wasn't aware of how much the other is capable of. 

"These dreams?" Urahara's fingers curl on empty air, and Ichigo takes a moment to think of all the untasteful jokes he could be hearing, now. Would have, if he hadn't shown up half-beaten up to death. 

"Where I'm not me." His voice comes stronger, set on ending this. _Where I'm everyone else but me_ , he doesn't add. Thinks of his own other half, colors all wrong and cruelness all ready. "I don't-"

"Know what's happening?" Urahara has his sword out, resting on his knees.

"Know if I'm in control". He says, bitter, teeth grinding together. "Anymore." He adds, thinking of being King. Of losing. "I need help." 

\--

("Control is an illusion" Grimmjow laughs, sharp and rude. "Forget this."

"Forget what?" He has a sword on his hands. It's not his. 

"Freedom is power." Grimmjow is coming closer, hair blue and eyes bluer. 

"Stop holding yourself back." His swords says, except it's not a sword. It's the wrong side of the mirror, tongue blue and sclerae black. Ichigo has his hands bracketing bare hipbones, wrists just likes his closing around his neck.

"Forget." Says Grimmjow, and he laughs.

Ichigo's protest is lost between lips shaped like his, a tongue like a blade.)

\--

"Ichigo?" Urahara is standing over him, hair loose. His hat is nowhere to be seen, and the sleeves of his robe are rolled up.

"Not him." He says back, dark glee and wiggling his toes. Testing. 

The blade comes to stand over his heart between the space of two heartbeats. He lets a sound at that, bright and loud. 

"Who are you?" Urahara asks, but they both know the answer.

"I'm no one" The blade sinks through the flimsy flesh, tries to find a heart that doesn't quite beat, anymore.


End file.
